


Sundry Nashav AUs

by FeatherWriter



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Destiny (Video Game), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Destiny, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Overwatch, Alternate Universe - Tabletop Gaming, Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Original Character(s), just for fun, multiple AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherWriter/pseuds/FeatherWriter
Summary: As a birthday gift, I took my character (Nash) and my dear friend's character (Hav) and stuck them in a bunch of different AUs, just for the fun of it. These two are a couple and have a... rather complicated backstory, but these are just five little snapshots of what they might be like in other lives.





	1. Overwatch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkandpaperhowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperhowl/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An agent of Overwatch has a chance meeting with a foreign Prince at a diplomatic function. Years later, after Overwatch has disbanded, they meet again, but much has changed.

Hav could remember many different experiences he'd had before Overwatch was disbanded. Countries, faces, galas, marks, and missions all over the world. He'd had quite a few roles too. Though he'd held his own as a striker on teams going in guns blazing, he'd found that where he truly shined was on infiltration missions. 

He was glad to have moved on from the glittering cutthroat high society of his youth, but he was grateful for the instincts his upbringing lent him. When the missions had called for him to don finery and protect an asset or watch a target without drawing suspicion, he’d found a comfortable ease in completing these tasks amongst what wealth and high society remained in a post-Omnic world.

Of all the missions he remembered from his Overwatch days, though, the prince was the one that continued to come to mind years down the road.

It had been an unexpected night, with only vague intel that Talon had interest in this diplomatic function. 

He hadn't known who their target was, but he'd kept his eye on a prince from one of the desert nations represented. He told himself it was because of the man's political importance and not because the way the cut of his traditional formal coat flattered his chest and shoulders. Therefore he praised his  _ honed intelligence agent instincts _ rather than his... aesthetic taste for picking the right person to shadow when the bullets started flying and Hav had needed to tackle this Prince Nasheritand to the ground behind cover.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” he'd said, staying atop the prince in hopes of shielding from crossfire with his body. “A bit of unexpected excitement for the evening. Keep your head down, please.”

They'd spoken for a while after the incident had been taken care of, with Hav telling himself he was just making certain Prince Nash wasn't in shock after the attack. His excuses had gotten a bit flimsier when, later that week, he'd pulled Nash's file up late at night in Watchpoint: Gibraltar, and pored over the pictures and information within.

Still, Hav didn't cross paths with him again for the rest of Overwatch's days and as the world moved on, so did he. Six months after Overwatch's dissolution, Nash's country was invaded by a powerful neighbor. The prince disappeared in the chaos, presumed dead. Hav had no rational explanation for how difficult that news had been to hear.

Perhaps it was the persistent remembrance, though, that gave Hav a sense that something was off, years later, upon meeting a stranger at a party.

“Dalton Ikalior,” the man gave his name as, and Hav found there was an easy familiarity as they talked. Dalton spoke of his fiancée, Hav recited practiced lies about his history, but all throughout, there was a nagging sense in Hav that he'd done this before.

It was a familiar phrase that finally clicked the pieces into place, when Dalton mentioned something about “not making a good showing of himself.”

_ Nash, _ Hav's mind latched onto.  _ Prince Nasheritand said that. That's who he reminds me of. _

Once the thought was in, Hav couldn't let it go. Dalton didn't quite  _ look _ the same as Nash, but there was some similarity there. Their speech patterns were similar, though Dalton had a different accent. Finally, the oddities became too much, and Hav, fearing he might be playing his hand, couldn't take it any longer.

“I'm sorry,” he said, forcing the words to sound casual, “but I have to ask. Have you ever heard the name Nasheritand?”

Dalton blinked in confusion, but as he opened his mouth to respond, he winced, obviously pained. Raising a hand to his head, he rubbed at his temple. “Apologies,” he said slowly, “I'm not sure what's come over me.”

Hav's blood froze in his veins.  _ It can't be… _

He reached a hand out, steadying the other man's shoulder. “Nash, is that you? God, what have they done to you?”

He'd heard whispers, rumors about Talon's capabilities, the kinds of experiments they'd started to run. Mental programming, memory alteration, code thoughts, sleeper agents.

Hav took hold of Dalton's arm, starting to pull him away. “Something's wrong, we need to get you out of here.” If Nash had been turned into a Talon plant, he likely wasn't here alone. They'd be watching him.

“Dalton?” A feminine voice rose above the ambient chatter around them as its owner wove her way through the crowd.

_ Saylin, _ Hav realized, noting the petite woman with auburn hair.  _ The fiancée. Of course. She must be his handler. _

She probably had backup, Hav knew, and he did not. Reluctantly, he relinquished Dalton's arm, forcing an easy, polite smile to his face. “You must be Saylin. Dalton was just telling me about you.”

She smiled back, handing the still-frowning Dalton a flute of champagne. As her eyes fell on Hav's face however, the barest twinge marred her expression. She was practiced in control, but he was practiced in ferreting out tics. She _ recognized _ him. Which probably meant she knew who he was. Who he had worked for.

_ Not good. _

Thankfully, her subject's mental programming breakdown seemed to distract her. “Dalton,” she asked gently, “is everything alright?”

Dalton winced. “I'm sorry, I've got a horrible migraine all of a sudden. I think… I think I might need to lie down.”

A flash of hostility burned in Saylin's eyes as she looked toward Hav, pinpointing him as the source of the trouble. She couldn't call him out on it without breaking cover, though, which gave him some room to maneuver.

“We probably need to leave,” she said, giving Hav a false smile. “My apologies for our rudeness, Mister…?”

“Nil,” Hav lied immediately. He turned his eyes on Dalton, thoughts whirling. “I hope you start to feel better. It's a terrible thing to be out of sorts in one's own head.”

With a bow, he extracted himself from the conversation and immediately moved into a pattern of social evasion. If this Saylin had marked him, he could have Talon agents on him already, preparing to take him out before he could reach the door. If they knew he'd compromised their asset, mopping up him as the leak would be their top priority.

He wove through the crowds, intentionally breaking lines of sight and moving erratically, then slipped into the back rooms of the building, heading through the kitchens for an alley exit. When he broke through into the dirty street and saw no one directly behind him, he threw himself into a flat out sprint, putting as much distance between himself and that building as he could.

He didn't stop running until he was five blocks away. He ducked into a coffee shop, queueing up and blending into the patrons as he watched the street for pursuit out of the corner of his eye. When no Talon agents appeared, his mind turned to other concerns.

_ What do I do now? _

The logical answer came first: do nothing. He wasn't an Overwatch agent anymore. Overwatch didn't even _ exist _ anymore. Yes, Talon was bad, but they were also very clearly and very specifically not his problem. Out of his hands. Out of  _ jurisdiction _ . He didn't have the authority or resources to move against them.

Besides, what was Nash to him, really? A passing acquaintance on a mission. An old fixation that he'd let get out of hand and distract him. To the rest of the world, a dead man. Just another casualty while the world had fallen apart.

That “logical” part of him didn't keep precedence for long, however, as every moral fiber within Hav rebelled against the idea of standing aside. No one else even knew what had happened to Nash, and Talon was too careful to let anyone discover. It was a stroke of luck, a passing fortune that Hav himself had figured it out.

No one else would be coming to help Nash. No one else would free him from his captors if Hav didn't do something. Hav was his only hope.

Yes, he lacked the connections he'd once had, but he was far from helpless. He still had old contacts he could call in, there were ways something like this might be done. 

As for lacking the authority? Damn authority. Jurisdiction could go to hell.

This was about doing what was right. 

He picked up his latte from the counter and pulled out his phone. He had some calls to make.


	2. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Guardians attempt not to make faces at one another while the Vanguard are watching...

“Something amusing, Guardian?”

Nash snapped back to attention, shaking his head as Commander Zavala fixed him with a stern look. “No sir,” Nash said. “Sorry sir.”

It was somewhat of a lie, but the idea of trying to explain just how funny it was to watch Hav try to keep a straight face while talking to Cayde-6 a few feet away didn't seem like a very productive thing to do right now. Try as he might to pay attention to Zavala's next mission instructions, Nash kept finding himself distracted by his fellow fireteam member across the table.

That was nothing new, though. Hav had always been good at catching his attention, right from the start.

For anyone watching closely, the conversation between the two hunters was quite different than its outwardly friendly appearance might suggest. Cayde babbled amicably with the kind of optimistic animation he was known for. But, though Hav would smile and nod during the few times Cayde  _ actually _ paid attention to him, for the rest of the spiel, Hav's expressions fell somewhere between eye rolls and annoyed scowls.

Nash had to bite back a chuckle as Hav shot him a flat look over Cayde's shoulder that cried  _ save me _ . Zavala was going to get onto him again for not paying attention if he wasn't careful.

“... keep us informed on the matter as you discover more, Guardian,” Zavala concluded. “Walk in the Light.”

Nash gave a nod, then walked over to wait for the Cayde-weary Hav. He pressed his lips together, trying to hide a smile as the Vanguard slung a robotic arm across Hav's shoulders and patted him on the back. 

“Don't let 'em get to you, Hunter,” Cayde said, still oblivious to his conversation partner's annoyance. “Wits about you, eyes up. I'd be distraught without my favorite Guardian around.”

The end of the conversation reached, Hav managed to extricate himself with a few pleasantries that didn't sound anywhere near as forced as Nash knew them to be, and then made his way toward Nash.

Nash nudged his shoulder as they walked through the hall. “Cayde's favorite, huh?”

Hav groaned once they were out of the room. “Don't start. He says that to everyone.”

“I really don't know what the issue is,” Nash teased, glancing backward. “He's always friendly to me when he gives out missions.”

“Remember getting stranded in the Dreadnaught with no ship and no backup? Remember whose plan that was?”

“We survived.”

“No thanks to him!” Hav shook his head. “You're lucky you're a Titan and you've got Zavala, Nash. I think I'd rather report to Ikora some days, honestly, and I'm half convinced she might actually be able to read minds.”

“You'd hate Warlock robes,” Nash said. “And I'd miss the cloak.”

“I'd learn to like them if I got away from Cayde's ‘jokes.’”

“He's not _ that _ bad.”

As the two emerged out into the cool evening air at the top of the Tower, Hav turned around, walking backwards to face Nash.

“I would rather navigate the Vault of Glass solo than have Cayde-6 force me to listen to another self-absorbed monologue only tangentially related to a mission.”

“No you wouldn't.”

“I would rather allow a mob of thralls to rip me to shreds in the depths of the moon than hear him snark at us over comms.”

Nash raised an eyebrow. “Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome body, if you ask me.”

That got a quick grin out of Hav. “I'm sure my ghost can transmat another for you if I go down. I'm just saying, sometimes the urge to drive a knife through his smug circuits is almost too much.”

Nash let out an amused chuckle, just enjoying Hav's easy, if animated tonight, company. Soon they’d be off to some other harrowing mission or strike, facing innumerable enemies and coming through insurmountable odds, just like they always did. But for the moment, they were safe, they were together, and Nash couldn't ask for more.

“You could always see if he'd join a Crucible match, Hav,” he suggested. “I hear knifing your fellow Guardians is smiled upon in there.”

The disgusted noise Hav made at that suggestion was truly impressive. “I _ hate _ the Crucible.”

Nash snaked a hand around Hav's waist suddenly, yanking him close. “You hate your Vanguard, you hate the Crucible. Anything you don't hate, then?”

Hav gave him a wry smile as he bumped into Nash, then reached out to grab the collar of Nash's armor and return the favor of pulling on him.

“Well, you're not so bad.”

Nash closed the space between them, capturing a kiss by the balcony in front of the Traveler and everyone. “Such flattery, Hav. What will Cayde think if I steal his favorite?”

“Cayde can jump in the Hellmouth if he'd like,” Hav said, but the bitterness in his voice had mostly shifted to fond warmth by this point. “And I can think of quite a few things to do that  _ I'd  _ like.”

Nash let his hand slide across Hav's back, selling just above his hips. “Am I invited?”

Hav eyed him, a dangerous grin crossing the Hunter's face. “Guest of honor.”


	3. Dungeons and Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of friends attempt to start a D&D campaign. The DM is rather exasperated when her players go off the rails immediately.

“I want to buy one of the other adventurers a mug of cider at the bar.”

Len cut off in the middle of her campaign's opening narration, leveling a flat look at Hav for the interruption. “You what?”

“I want to buy one of them a drink. I roll to seduce one of my fellow adventurers with cider and witty banter.”

Len tapped her fingers against her guide book on the dining room table. “You do realize that ‘You all meet up for the first time at a tavern’ is just a storytelling way to get the party together, right?”

Hav grined, reaching across Eks’ character sheet for a handful of potato chips. “I thought you said D&D was a game where we could do whatever our characters wanted. My character wants to flirt at the bar.”

Len groaned, waving a hand. “Roll the stupid die and let's get on with it.”

Hav tossed, his d20 clattering against Len's  table until it came to a rest. Before he could announce the result, however, Len held up a hand.

“Wait, which person are you buying this drink for?”

Hav glanced around their table, trying to figure out who would be best. Finally, he grinned. “Nash.”

Nash's eyebrows rose, but he seemed amused and curious about the idea. As this was his first campaign, he was a bit out of his depth with the idea of tabletop RPGs, but interested in learning.

Len nodded wearily. “Alright, fine. What'd you roll?”

Hav's grin looked like it might split his face. “Natural 20.”

Len swore. Nash grinned back.


	4. Assassin's Creed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Templar Grandmaster holds an inportant pawn in thrall with a Piece of Eden. A local assassin has other ideas about that.

The hooded figure stood quietly, hidden blades  _ snick _ ing back into their sheaths as the two templars at he’d landed upon softly gurgled through their last, bloody breaths. Hav stood at the very heart of the stronghold of his enemies. The red sash at his waist matched the scattered drops of blood against the white of his robes.

Blood that did not belong to him.

The two men standing guard at the end of the hall caught sight of him as he stood over their fallen comrades, and Hav pulled his sword free as they rushed to attack him. 

Templars. Always so sloppy, always so easy to read, they were. The two templars telegraphed exactly what they were going to do from halfway down the hall, and Hav’s blade sang to meet them as they drew near. He flowed between the men like a tide rushing through an inlet. With a pair of counter attacks as graceful as a ballet, the number of templars dying at Hav’s feet doubled.

He knelt, cleaning the steel on one of their cloaks—and pocketing a bag of the man’s coins as he did—then rose. The end was in sight. On silent feet, he ran the length of the hall, staring at the grand door carved with ancient symbols, which now stood unguarded. He pushed against one side, and it swung open smoothly, far too smoothly for how massive it was. 

The Grand Master waited within. And she had Nash with her.

Hav’s grip tightened on his sword as he walked forward, letting his peaked hood fall back. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she knew who he was. He just wanted to be sure he could look her in the eyes as he struck her down for what she’d done. 

“Let him go, Saylin.”

The Grand Master scowled at him, her hand possessively digging into Nash’s shoulder. “You are becoming  _ quite  _ annoying, Assassin.”

He tossed her a grin like a knife, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s one of my many skills. Killing twisted, monstrous templars is another. Like me to demonstrate?”

At Saylin's side, Nash tensed. He was not tied or bound; the only restraint upon him was Saylin's hand. Despite this, no one would mistake him as a willing participant in these schemes. The raw, wide-eyed, desperate terror in his eyes at the sight of Hav spoke enough. The chains with which the Grand Master had ensnared him were far more powerful and insidious.

“Hav,” Nash cried, voice breaking over the words, “please, it's not worth it. She'll kill you! Just leave me.”

“Never,” Hav swore. “You don't belong to her.”

Saylin arched an eyebrow. “You interfere in things beyond your ken, Assassin. Nash's bloodline holds the key to unifying the world. True peace, true unity. You cannot understand the breadth of his importance.”

“United as slaves beneath your Order, you mean,” Hav snarled. “And I understand his _importance_ well enough to know he's a person with free will, and he isn't going with you one step further.”

“Hav,” Nash begged, “go. Run. She has the–”

He didn't finish the statement, cutting off as a heady thrum of power washed through the room. In the hand not holding Nash's shoulder, Saylin now gripped a golden sphere, shimmering in the light. Hav’s every nerve snapped on alert, eyes locked on that Piece of Eden, the Apple. An artifact of unspeakable puissance, a thing which represented both the height and darkest depths of templar control.

Nash flinched as he felt the Apple’s influence suffuse the room. She hadn't activated it yet, but its open presence was unmistakable.

“Saylin, I'll do anything,” Nash said, holding up a trembling hand between them as though that could ward off what she intended. “Don't do this.”

She reached forward, laying a tender hand against his cheek, a soft smile on her lips. “Don't worry, dearest. I won't let him hurt you.”

The Piece clicked in her hand and a wave of force rushed through the chamber, as a web of fracturing golden lines shattered through the air. Nash screamed, his body spasming as those threads of light pierced him, raising him up into the air. The agonized sound he let out was a dagger through Hav's soul, but it only lasted a few heartbeats before the strings snapped taut and Nash dropped back to the floor on hands and knees.

Nash's head rose to look at Hav, and a glowing light shone behind eyes that were no longer his own.

Hav stepped back into a defensive stance as he realized what was happening, sword held to parry. “Nash, listen to me,” he said slowly. “This isn't you. You don't have to do this.”

No recognition flickered in Nash's eyes. Saylin tossed a guard's spear to him, which he caught without looking. Entirely beneath the Apple's thrall, Nash stalked forward.

Hav took another step back. “Nash, please, I don't want to hurt you.”

Saylin's smile could have shattered glass. “This should be over quickly, then.”

With a roar, Nash rushed the space between them, his spear a blur in his hands. Hav deflected, ducking the follow-up swing as he flung himself back out of range. His heart thundered in his ears, but it was fear, not exertion, that sounded each beat.

This was bad.  _ Extremely _ bad. He couldn't let Nash hurt him, for Nash's sake as well as his own. He had a sudden, awful image of Nash returning to awareness with bloodied hands, standing over Hav's broken corpse. It would destroy Nash more thoroughly than any other horrors the templars could force him through.

Hav did not want to kill Nash, and he could not allow Nash to kill him under Saylin's control.

They struck out another exchange, with Hav just barely able to fend off the attacks. He wasn't certain if it was Nash's own skill bleeding through, or if Saylin's puppeteering directed his blows, but this _ thing _ stealing Nash's will was incredibly proficient.

There was only one way out of this. 

Hav dropped his sword to the ground, letting the weapon fall in a clangorous ring. He spread his hands, empty palms up, in a posture of surrender. Though he still wore his hidden blades at each wrist, such short weapons would have little use against the reach of a spear.

Nash hesitated, expecting a trap. However, the prodding from the hold on his mind pushed him to end this, to finish Hav off. He drove for Hav's heart, speartip seeking blood.

Hav was ready, rolling with the attack, letting the spear pass within inches of striking him. Then, with open hands as he turned, he took hold of the weapon firmly, and with a careful twist, wrenched it from Nash's hands. A flip and a flick brought the pointed blade just beneath Nash's chin. 

Nash stilled, gold-lit eyes boring into Hav's.

“What happens to your plans, Templar,” Hav asked calmly, “if your ‘key’ dies?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hav saw Saylin go rigid. “You wouldn't dare,” she breathed. “You can't kill him. You're in love with him.”

“I am,” Hav admitted, then dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “I love you, Nash.”

Nash's expression didn't change, blank and impassive still.

Hav raised his voice again, speaking to Saylin. “But maybe you miscalculated. Maybe I love him enough to free him from this. Maybe I know he'd rather die than live as your mindless slave. Maybe he knows that if I can't break him free of you, keeping him out of your clutches is the next best thing.”

Saylin hesitated, clearly analyzing whether or not she could tell if he was bluffing. Hav didn't give her long enough to decide. In a sharp motion, he twirled Nash's spear, slamming the blunt staff side into Nash's knees. Saylin yelled as she saw Nash crumple, unable to track what had actually happened.

And in that moment of her confusion, Hav pulled a throwing knife from his sash and threw with all his strength. The knife struck her arm and sent the Apple tumbling from her grasp. She let out a cry of pain as the knife cut her, and her wicked tool fell out of reach.

Dropping the spear, Hav dashed at a full sprint across the room, sliding on the slick tiles to scoop up the Apple before Saylin could grab it back.

A jolt ran through his body as his skin touched its smooth surface, and a roar of power and otherworldly  _ ambition _ lanced through his head. This was a sword to cleave nations, an idol to make every knee bow. He held in one hand the ability to raise an empire, or ensnare the very soul. 

Something within him recoiled in disgust at the thought of such things, and with some unknowable act of will, he forced a break, shattering some link within the Apple. Its lines of power lighting the space twitched to jagged angles, and then disappeared as Saylin screamed in frustration, falling to her knees.

Nash slumped to the floor, unmoving.

Hav rushed to his side in an instant, picking Nash up and cradling his head. “Nash! Nash, can you hear me?”

There was no response. Not at first, at least. Then, Nash’s eyelids fluttered, and he coughed, gasping as he woke from beneath the awful influence. “Hav?”

With his free hand, Hav pulled Nash up to him, and pressed a forceful kiss against his lips. Something wet slipped free of his eyes as he held Nash there, shaking with relief. Nash kissed him back, like a drowning man tasting air once more, and for a few perfect heartbeats, nothing in the world existed but them for each other.

When they finally broke the kiss, Hav allowed himself a moment with their heads resting against one another, just to breathe. Then a sound from behind them pulled him back to the moment, and his will hardened to grounded iron once more.

Apple still in hand, he picked up his sword and moved to stand, but Nash caught his wrist.

“Don't kill her, Hav,” Nash said softly. “I know she deserves it, but…”

Hav hesitated, but nodded. He had the Apple; she was toothless without it. He could find some other way to put her out of the picture. He'd make sure she never had the opportunity to hurt Nash again or anyone else.

One way or another, it was finished.


	5. Hollywood Celebrities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in the spotlight isn't easy, especially when your terrible insider best friend keeps leaking info about your secret relationship to the paparazzi. Still, the perks are always good.

“He'll be in town, you know,” Len said, apropos of nothing, as their plane taxied into the terminal.

Nash looked up, raising an eyebrow. There could only be one person she meant. “Really?”

As he watched, Len tossed back the rest of her cocktail, unconcerned about the fact that local time was not even noon yet. He often feared for the state of her poor liver, considering how constantly she drank alcohol.

“He's still hushed, but he arrived a few days early to settle in before filming starts.” She pulled up her phone, a device which Nash was convinced might be the single most powerful object in the known universe.

“How do you find these things out?” He had little doubt that she spoke the truth, but sometimes the breadth of Len's contact network terrified him.

She grinned, pulling her bug-eyed sunglasses down her nose to stare at him over the rims. “I am mysteriously powerful and have many friends.”

“Knowing you, Len, and the kind of person you are, that's still almost impossible to believe.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shut up.  _ You're  _ friends with me, after all.”

“This fact is also almost impossible to believe.”

She rolled her eyes, making sure he could see over the glasses before she shoved them back up. She leaned over, looking out the window. “Ha. You, by the way, are  _ not _ hushed regarding your arrival.”

Nash groaned, standing to look out the plane window next to her. Sure enough, a gaggle of paparazzi was clustered around the runway where they would disembark. The reporters perched like vultures waiting for the kill to fall.

“We changed flights! How'd they find us?” Then his eyes narrowed, realization striking as he turned toward his companion. “Tell me you didn't.”

Len shrugged, unashamed. “I need a new phone case. Kind of surprising the Stars Daily didn't hold onto their exclusive a little better though, considering how much they paid me for the leak.”

Nash frowned. “You are  _ actually _ the worst person, you know?”

She grinned. “But I'm so damn _ useful _ too. Speaking of…” She shook her phone meaningfully. “Want me to set up a meeting?”

Nash's heart fluttered at the thought. He hadn't thought their schedules would work out for this trip. He, like the rest of the world aside from Len, had believed Hav was still overseas, doing final scenes on his show’s season finale. The idea that they were not only in the same city again, but that Len would be able to arrange some time for the two of them, it was such a wonderful surprise.

“Do it,” he said.

She chuckled. “Good, because I already did. Assuming those paps leave you in one piece, that is.”

He made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat, both for her siccing the paparazzi on him and for making plans for him without warning. Len was not his assistant. She didn't work for him at all. Nor was she a fellow celebrity, though she did have a frightening amount of insider information regarding the film world. She _ was _ a friend in a strange sort of way. The sort of friend who could, and often did, make his life more difficult, but had his back when it counted.

Also, he was fairly certain she was the kind of person who could ruin his life with two photographs and one email to the right person. Best to stay on her good side and never find out, he thought.

She picked up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “He'll be in a mood for cheering up, too. That Nilhav fic that the tabloids talked about a few weeks ago got a chapter update last night.”

Nash's mood soured at the mention of Nil, Hav's terrible once-costar, and the extremely popular, but entirely fictional, idea of a relationship between the two. Tabloids and fan followings alike gossiped incessantly about the possibility that they might secretly be dating. 

Little did they realize just how utterly Hav despised Nil. Still, the ship's popularity did make for a good distraction from Hav's _ actual _ secret relationship. With Nash.

“Please tell me you don't actually read that garbage.”

“It's surprisingly good,” Len says, tossing a stick of gum in her mouth. “This author really captures the _ Hav _ ness of Hav. It's uncanny. The pining between him and Nil is exquisite. Truly a way with words, this girl has.”

Nash picked up his duffle, trying to put that idea, and all the terrible thoughts that came with it, out of his mind. Most of their luggage would be taken straight to his apartment here without them needing to bother with it.

“The sex scenes are pretty good too.”

Nash stumbled in shock, barely catching himself on a handle by the door. He sent her a venomous glare. She cackled with wicked mirth, then tossed him something. A magazine.

He held it up. “What’s this for?”

“To cover your face. They paid me for intel, not a good photo op,” she said, delighted at the prospect of ruining the insider edge she’d sold him out with. “I told them where and when we’d land, but there’s nothing to say you’ve got to cooperate with it. And besides, they made the mistake of paying up front. Ruin their pictures to your heart’s content, Nash.”

A limo waited on the tarmac for them, but unfortunately it lay opposite the gauntlet of cameras and invasive questions. Nash's security headed out first, managing to clear a path at least for them, though the fervor from those watching redoubled upon seeing people debark from the plane.

Len went first, distracting a few reporters with a slew of pleasant obscenities. Nash kept his head down as he walked behind her, firmly ignoring questions and camera flashes alike. When they finally broke through, he felt as though they'd emerged from a bramble thicket, stepping into sunlight after the oppressive gloom of a fairytale forest.

Len held the door open for him and he slid inside, allowing himself a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. A safehouse of leather seats and tinted windows to keep the predators prowling outside at bay.

He let his head fall back, closing his eyes as he waited for Len to walk around to the other side of the car. He didn't realize he wasn't alone until he heard the voice.

“Now, is that any way to greet a friend?”

Nash's eyes snapped open at the sound of the warm, familiar tone. “Hav!”

Hav, looking like a page from a catalog brought to life in his designer suit, leaned across the seat and pressed his lips to Nash's. Nash slipped his hand beneath Hav's royal blue waistcoat, noticing Hav's suit jacket lying on the seat beside them.

Nash gave a breathy laugh as Hav moved to trail kisses down his chin and neck. “When Len said–”

“You listened to anything that came out of Len's mouth?” Hav teased. “First mistake.”

As though summoned, two quick taps sounded from the panel blocking the front seat before it slid open. Len, it seemed, had not been moving to the other side of the limo, but had taken the passenger seat beside the driver.

“Surprise, you're welcome, all that good nonsense,” Len said. “Cash, card, and rare vintage spirits are all acceptable forms of paying your undying gratitude.”

Nash stared her down. “You sold me out to the reporters for quick cash. I'll consider this you  _ beginning _ to make it up.”

Len sighed, turning forward. “So ungrateful… Try to keep your clothes on. The drive’s not that long.” 

Hav reached over and shut the panel, then flipped the latch on their side, before turning back to Nash with a grin. 

“Now then, where were we?”


End file.
